Coda to 8.16 – Remember the Titans
"I only want to see
If you're okay when I'm not around
Asking if you love me
I love the way you make it sound."
- Blue October, "Calling You"
A/N: I understand I'm, like, two seasons behind posting this, but I never actually had the courage to publish it until today. To quote this piece, it's been thoroughly "poked, stabbed, bruised, and torn to shreds" so hopefully it's decent.
"Where the hell are you, man?"
That was the sliver of a broken question from a man even more so himself. Cas never wanted to believe that the Righteous Man, his Righteous Man, was demoralized—flattened by life's iron fist. Dean was noble and Dean was daring but sooner or later, that valiance would run out when the cards hit the table. Especially if it meant that the deck had the faces of the ones he loved painted on them.
He could feel his feeble mind like a sickness penetrating because he was on that finite list. When Cas raised him, he saw involuntarily into every one of Dean's deepest thoughts, which was more terrifying than crossing the threshold into Hell. Each thought was weighted on a scale value. If the thought glowed elusively, it meant almost nothing of sentimental value. These were basic necessities: food, money, even his car. Other thoughts tended to be near the back—the emotional state of mind. These hung like a beacon over his head and translated into words like home and Sam and family.
One word branching from the latter stood alone: his name, Castiel.
"For all that we've been through, I'm asking you... you keep a lookout for my little brother, okay?"
"As you wish, Dean," he said, breaking the empty silence hanging like a loose nail between them.
The older Winchester looked up, but not at him. He was good at playing the role of the deadpan hero. It was hard to believe that this was the same man that averted the apocalypse once.
Now Cas was faced with a slight pickle. He could turn around right now; leave the bunker without any more damage to his reputation. The problem with that was that he would suffer damage. He would leave knowing that his best friend was hurt. Dean had been poked, stabbed, bruised, and torn to shreds long after he raised him and all the while where was he? Off at some angel press conference, making a name for himself as an even a greater fool? All Dean ever asked of Cas was that he was there for him. Even when his world came crashing over him in a wave of self-loathing reticence he prayed to Cas not for help, but for reassurance that he could give it.
He recognized his complacency, only he didn't proceed with what course of action angel Cas would take. He did what human Cas would do. He did what he should have done years ago:
He listened to Dean.
Despite occasional rounds to the bathroom, Sam's vital signs were still turbulent like the Winchesters ought to be. Regardless, he stood in the doorway until the sun poked through a mass of clouds, smiling. His family was okay, and that's what was important.